


none

by parrishes



Series: the hours [4]
Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Cats, F/M, Fluff, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 11:50:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4605627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parrishes/pseuds/parrishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first time in her life, Vanessa might not win a staring contest. Ethan, Vanessa, and a very affectionate - but opinionated - stray cat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	none

He sees Vanessa standing at the back door, open just wide enough for her foot to stick through. He had come down to the cellar to make sure everything was set for tomorrow night - the first full moon of October - and found her with a bag of flour in her hands and a quizzical expression on her face. 

She hears him approach but doesn’t bother to turn around, like she normally would. Vanessa seems reluctant to break her gaze away from… whatever it is she’s looking at. Her narrowed eyes scream “determination”. 

He comes up behind her, bends to put his chin on her shoulder and sees a… cat? A cat, sitting by the open door, feebly attempting to bat Vanessa’s foot away. 

“Okay, if I had to bet on one of you, my money’s on the cat,” he tells her, because this cat is  _not_ blinking - Vanessa might have  _finally_  met her steely-eyed match. What a day. 

“It’s lucky that you don’t. Have to bet, I mean.” The smoothness of her voice lets him know she’s mildly irritated, but he ignores her and presses on. Ethan is not going to pass up the opportunity to poke at her a little bit, and she can always take it out on him later. In  _private_. 

“I don’t know; you might lose this one,” he says, knowing that it will rile her up. “Cats are awfully good at never blinking.” 

“It doesn’t matter how good they are, because we’re not having a staring contest. Therefore, your point is moot.” 

“Oh, really? I didn’t say you were having a staring contest. You came to that conclusion on your own.”

He’s standing behind her and he can  _feel_  her glare. He’s sure that, if he were anyone else, the force of her stare would make him want to shrivel up and die. As it is, though, he just laughs. 

Ethan leans down to stretch over her foot, and holds a hand out to the cat. It comes over willingly, and rubs its head all over his fingers, purring loudly. 

It’s fucking  _adorable._  And tame, to boot.

“It’s not feral, Van. Look, it’s friendly.”

“I know. It comes here frequently. Sembene used to feed it,” she says, quietly, and that’s what stiffens his resolve to give this cat a home, to take it in, the same way Vanessa took him. “He says -  _said_  it needed care.” 

“Has it always been this… personable?” he asks her, still petting the cat’s head. 

“I think so. It’s never attacked Sembene or Sir Malcolm or I, although I’ve never gotten close enough to touch it.”

He’s curious. “Do you… not like cats?” 

Now it’s Vanessa’s turn to chuckle. “No, I like them, but most of the cats in this alley aren’t so amiable. I’m wary, not unfriendly. Do you see the scars on its head? That means it fights. It’s the aggressor.” 

He looks at the scars tracing the cat’s ears. “But you’re so gentle,” he coos  _\- he’s cooing? God, Ethan, get hold of yourself_  - and picks the cat up. “How could someone abandon you?” 

To his surprise, the cat hisses, and jumps out of his arms.  _Alright, then._  It walks back out into the alley, and then turns around and meows, plaintively. 

He stares at the cat. The cat stares back. Then it turns and trots away, before looking back and meowing in what is  _clearly_  annoyance. 

“I think it wants you to follow,” Vanessa whispers. Ethan looks at her, at the heavy bag of flour she’s still holding, before he looks back to the cat, which is sitting in the middle of the alley and swishing its tail threateningly. “You should go.”

“… I will?” He’s slightly confused by her insistence that he follow this admittedly sweet, but random cat through the alley. But the joke’s on him: Vanessa gets her revenge for his teasing when she moves her foot away, and the cellar door swings shut before he can grab the key on the hook. 

He can hear her laughter from outside as she walks up the stairs. 

Ethan is locked outside. The feel of something brushing against his calf makes him look down, and the cat is weaving through his legs. 

“I guess it’s just you and me,” he says, as the cat begins to skitter away. 

He follows. 

- 

Later, when the sun is setting, he returns to Grandage Place. He’s in his shirtsleeves, rolled to the elbow with his forearms slightly scratched, when he gets to the front door. It’s unlocked - he walks in, the cat next to him, and heads straight for the kitchen.

Vanessa is eating dinner there; the empty plate suggests that Malcolm had eaten and then left, while the full one implies she might feel the  _slightest_  bit guilty about locking him out. She doesn’t have any reason to feel bad, really - he would have followed the cat anyway.

Vanessa nearly chokes on her food when the cat jumps onto the table. 

“Do we have a pan?” 

She swallows down the bite before she answers. “A  _what_?”

“A pan, like a saucepan, or a pot. Something fairly big.” 

“I think so? Hold on, let me look.” She finds a pan in some corner of the kitchen, and collapses the delicate tower it was part of when she yanks it out of the pile. The clash and clang of the falling metal hurts his ears - and the cat’s too; it flattens its ears against its head and hisses. 

“Why, exactly, do we need a pan?” He’s grabbed a bunch of old rags and lined the dish with them, and it’s only when he’s finished that Vanessa realizes he was holding his vest like a baby the entire time. 

Five tiny kittens now rest in the pan. 

He sets it down on the ground, and the tortie settles herself inside, against the edge. She purrs at her kittens, and purrs when Ethan kneels down to pet the top of her head. 

Vanessa kneels down as well, slides one finger under the cat’s chin and scratches. The tortie purrs at that, too. 

They’re both silent for awhile before she speaks. “We’ll need a name for her. For them too, I suppose.” 

“We will?” He’s only asking just so he can hear her say it. He’s grinning like an idiot. 

“This is their home now,” she says. 

His grin widens.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as part of a drabble ask meme on Tumblr, and turned into a full-length one-shot. I love this cat and want to include her in future stories, but I don't have a name for her. Any suggestions?


End file.
